


i trip over everything you say

by cuttothequickk



Series: makedamnsure [7]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Explicit Sex, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 00:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttothequickk/pseuds/cuttothequickk
Summary: “You okay?” Shizuo asks, apparently seeing some of the hesitation in Izaya’s expression. The concern only makes Izaya’s heart lurch again, and he disguises whatever it is he’s feeling by pushing past Shizuo into the apartment as if he owns the place.“I’m fine, Shizu-chan,” Izaya somehow remembers to say, his voice lilting in a good approximation of its normal cadence.





	i trip over everything you say

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, Izaya's thinking is for sure unhealthy and while there is definitely consent, they don't really negotiate this situation that well, and Izaya's just not in a great state of mind in general, but I also think that with these two, they probably would do things in a not-super-healthy way, so yeah I'm sorry idk.
> 
> wow these have really gotten away from me, enjoy and let me know if you hate it, see you in hell lolol xxx

“Never thought I would live to see the day Orihara Izaya stood outside my door without knocking for 20 minutes before I finally had to invite him in,” Shizuo says, an amused smirk painted across his face, angular and dangerous and beautiful in the dim light of the hallway. Izaya feels his heartrate speed up, his breath stuttering so he has to swallow and force a smirk. “You okay?” Shizuo asks, apparently seeing some of the hesitation in Izaya’s expression. The concern only makes Izaya’s heart lurch again, and he disguises whatever it is he’s feeling by pushing past Shizuo into the apartment as if he owns the place.

 

“I’m fine, Shizu-chan,” Izaya somehow remembers to say, his voice lilting in a good approximation of its normal cadence. When Izaya turns to look at Shizuo, he looks a little bit skeptical, his arms crossed in a defensive pose, but he doesn’t push, and Izaya’s smirk turns a little bit more natural.

 

Shizuo uncrosses his arms and runs a hand through his hair, messy on his day off to match the old white t-shirt clinging just barely to his chest and his jeans worn but still fitted over his long, muscled legs. Izaya can’t help but stare, lust and some other unnamable feeling welling up in his chest. Shizuo is smirking now; he has obviously caught Izaya checking him out and is pretty okay with it, his posture relaxing so it’s almost something out of a magazine—the ruffled bad boy relaxing in his apartment with bare feet and disheveled hair and long, lanky arms ready to hold you up against the wall and fuck you senseless. Izaya swallows.

 

“Did you just come here to stare?” Shizuo asks.

 

And yeah, Shizuo’s body is fucking beautiful, but it’s not Shizuo’s body itself that he’s attracted to so much as it is the meaning behind each aspect of it. The casual intimacy of his bare feet. The familiarity with which he smirks at Izaya, as if he’s delighted that Izaya is here. The way his hair is ruffled and unwashed, because why bother if Izaya is just going to come mess it up again. The old t-shirt that Izaya knows is really soft because he’s worn it before a few times when he was lounging around at Shizuo’s apartment after one of their trysts. The look in his eyes, appraising and finding value in whatever Izaya is presenting him with.

 

So yeah, Shizuo looks fucking good, but it’s more than just the way he looks, and Izaya suddenly wonders, his breath catching in his throat, if this is what real affection feels like.

 

“Izaya?” Shizuo asks, taking a few steps forward to study Izaya’s facial expression, because oh yeah, they were in the middle of a conversation or something, and Izaya just went off into his head and probably looked a little bit crazy for a minute there.

 

“Just admiring the view,” Izaya manages, feeling breathless when Shizuo places soft fingers under his chin to tip Izaya’s head back and study his expression.

 

“Jesus Christ, I’m fine,” Izaya says, but Shizuo doesn’t back off right away, instead leaning forward to brush fingers across Izaya’s cheeks.

 

Shizuo is evidently satisfied after a few seconds because he turns around, heading towards the kitchenette in the corner of the room. “Are you hungry?”

 

Izaya smirks. “Not for food, Shizu-chan,” he says, taking a couple of steps forwards. Shizuo glances up with a firm expression on his face.

 

“What have you eaten today, Izaya?” He asks, opening the fridge, and Izaya suddenly remembers the conversation they’d had almost a week ago on his bathroom floor, the one about self-destructive behaviors that might have focused a little bit too intently on disordered eating, which is stupid because Izaya isn’t even bulimic. Or anorexic.

 

“I had breakfast,” Izaya insists, too shaken to come up with some convincingly elaborate lie, because who gave Shizuo the right to bring this up now or even to be concerned about Izaya’s eating habits at all? Izaya certainly didn’t, and he didn’t come here to be questioned and challenged and attacked for something that isn’t even an actual problem, and—

 

Shizuo isn’t looking at him with any sort of judgment or pity, the kind that Shinra gets when he’s treating Izaya and asks how much he’s been eating, has he been doing any drugs (as if Izaya would ever subject his body or mind to something like that), did this scar come from a fight with Shizuo-kun? No, Shizuo just looks earnest and kind of curious, like he’ll accept whatever answer Izaya gives and move on from there.

 

Izaya sighs. “Okay, I had coffee,” he admits. “For breakfast,” he amends. Shizuo looks maybe a little bit concerned, but he doesn’t look disappointed or even sympathetic really, just amused and fond and soft and protective.

 

“So definitely not food, but okay,” he says, a little lilt of laughter present in his voice. “Well, I already had lunch, and I’m assuming you don’t want anything. But I probably do owe you dinner for letting me puke in your shower last weekend, so maybe after we’ve gone a round or three, I can treat you?” Shizuo makes it sound more like a bargain or a business transaction than some misguided attempt to get Izaya to eat more, and of course Izaya knows what he’s doing, but something about the effort Shizuo takes to make him feel okay about it is kind of devastating, and Izaya finds himself nodding. He’s not hungry now, but then again, that’s why he came here, kind of—not to get food, but to get rid of whatever is keeping him from feeling, well, anything. It’s also why he stood outside the door for so long, overthinking everything and feeling his head spin though the familiar but nevertheless untamable spirals of anxiety, panic, vacancy—all the trappings of whatever is kind of wrong with Izaya’s head on bad days.

 

It’s not a bad day, but it’s not a good one, either. Still, it is arguably the most unstable he’s ever felt in Shizuo’s presence, and even though he feels like everything Shizuo does and says is tipping his already precarious balance, he also feels like when he falls, Shizuo is going to catch him.

 

It’s weird that he’s putting his trust in Shizuo’s hands.

 

“Izaya? You okay?” Shizuo asks, pulling Izaya from his thoughts once again.

 

Izaya takes a breath. “Yeah,” he says, not really a lie because being here is what’s keeping him okay, because it’s not a lie when Shizuo is looking at him like he hung the moon and maybe the stars, too.

 

Even if that expression is colored with concern at the moment. Shizuo closes the fridge and moves towards him, his height making Izaya feel small but not intimidated, protected instead of threatened. Shizuo’s arms wrap around Izaya’s narrow frame, a hand finding its way to Izaya’s hair and threading through the strands, stroking calm down Izaya’s neck and spine so that he relaxes against Shizuo’s steady form, face pressed in against that soft white shirt.

 

“Hey, stay with me, ‘Zaya,” Shizuo is whispering, hand still stroking Izaya’s head like Izaya is a skittish kitten. In some ways, Izaya muses, he kind of is, and he laughs a little at the image of a giant blond monster comforting a tiny, terrified black cat. Shizu-chan doesn’t ask what Izaya is laughing about, just tightens his grip and presses lips against the crown of Izaya’s head.

 

“Take me to bed, Shizu-chan,” Izaya whispers, hands coming up to grasp at the front of Shizuo’s shirt. He feels the breath catch in Shizuo’s lungs, the way he tenses his grip to pull Izaya even closer and sucks in a deep inhale of Izaya’s scent off his hair.

 

“Is that what you came here for?” Shizuo asks, voice a whisper to match Izaya’s. He sounds almost disappointed, and Izaya furrows his brow.

 

He reaches a hand around Shizuo’s neck, but he doesn’t move his head from its hiding place against Shizuo’s shoulder. “I don’t want to think anymore. You can quiet things. Like…what we talked about. Destruction, or whatever,” Izaya explains, actually a little bit embarrassed.

 

Shizuo sucks in a breath. “You—I mean, fuck, Izaya, I know that I’ve, like, choked you sometimes, like at the very beginning when we would do it in an alley and shit, but you have to know that I didn’t mean to, and I don’t want to hurt you…I mean—”

 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya whispers, cutting off Shizuo’s rambling and tilting his head to meet Shizuo’s eyes. “I want you to.” He realizes how that sounds, and the look on Shizuo’s face says he’s thinking exactly what Izaya doesn’t want him to be thinking—that Izaya only wants him for his strength, that he’s just here to get knocked around because he can’t really do that himself, although Izaya suspects that Shizuo probably knows based on his intimate knowledge of Izaya’s scars that of course there are plenty of ways for Izaya to fuck himself up pretty badly just to quiet down his fucking head, and—

 

Fuck, he’s drifting away again. “Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, more forcefully this time. “I want you to. Not that I just want to get, like, hurt somehow. I want you to do it. Not just because you’re the only one who can, or something like that. I’m more resourceful than you think. I can do it myself if you won’t,” Izaya admits. Fuck it. Shizuo definitely already knows.

 

And yeah, the breath Shizuo takes says that he does know, that he’s probably spent a long time thinking about it—lamenting about it, really, if his devastated expression is anything to go by.

 

“Jesus, Izaya, I—fuck, I don’t want to say you can’t say shit like that, because you can always tell me all that shit, whatever it is. I don’t mind. I want you to. But I do care, and it’s just—I mean, okay, yeah, I want to help. Whatever you need. Me to be rough, or whatever. Even if it is just because I’m really strong and you’re really masochistic.”

 

Izaya grins, suddenly feeling like they’re on a level playing field again. “You have no idea, Shizu-chan.” Izaya smirks, and it’s genuine, because even if he’s having a weird day, he can still find some strength left in him to be flirtatious, especially now that his veins are coursing with the relief of knowing Shizuo is going to take him apart. “Want to find out?”

 

Shizuo smirks back. “Oh, I think I have some idea, I-za-ya-kun.” He grabs the back of Izaya’s neck and crushes their lips together, his tongue immediately going for the seam of Izaya’s lips, both of them groaning at the heat surging between them. It’s slower than their usual pace, Shizuo controlling the kiss now that Izaya has so explicitly surrendered control to him, and Shizuo is clearly trying to be at least a little bit sweet even in his intensity.

 

“Fuck,” Shizuo curses, pulling away to study Izaya’s expression as he runs his hands down Izaya’s back to his thighs, reaching down to lift them up around his waist without needing any help from Izaya, and Izaya shudders a little at the show of strength.

 

Shizuo is walking them to the bed, but then he changes his mind and pushes Izaya up against the wall instead, his hips snapping forward into Izaya’s and making the air rush out of both their lungs. They’re pressed as close as they can possibly be, Shizuo’s mouth leaving Izaya’s to ghost air down his throat and suck a new bruise into the soft skin above his collarbone. Izaya leans his head back against the wall, a relief after having to hold himself upright all day, and since when was existence so fucking exhausting? But Shizuo is holding him up, supporting all of his weight like it’s nothing (and to be fair, it probably is less than it should be), is guiding Izaya through the motions so that he won’t have to do it himself. It’s simultaneously exhilarating and calming, being at the mercy of a creature such as Heiwajima Shizuo, and Izaya closes his eyes and lets himself dissolve into sensation and feeling.

 

“Izaya-kun,” Shizuo is murmuring, and it takes Izaya a moment to open his eyes and lift his head off the wall so he can meet the honey-brown gaze of the monster holding him up. Even as Izaya makes eye contact, Shizuo is pressing a soft kiss to his jawline, repeating again, “Izaya-kun,” and Izaya shudders and tries to clear the delirium from his eyes so he doesn’t look quite as gone as he feels.

 

“Hold on, ‘Zaya,” Shizuo is whispering, his voice muted like it’s a distant dream or something, but Izaya manages to grip his hands around Shizuo’s neck so the blond can pull both of them off the wall and tip them over onto the bed, Izaya’s back hitting the sheets so gently he almost wants to cry, or he would if any of this felt real. Shizuo is crouched over him, studying him with a concerned gaze that takes in the vacancy of Izaya’s eyes and whatever dazed-off expression the rest of his face is making, and somewhere in the back of Izaya’s head he can tell that he’s supposed to be responding to Shizu-chan, but most of his brain feels like it’s floating in dopamine and delirium, and all he can do is blink and keep his hands tight around Shizuo’s neck.

 

“Hey, wait, Izaya, what’s the matter? What’s going on?” Shizuo’s voice is a little more forceful now, and just frantic enough that Izaya grits his teeth and tries to snap out of it. He’s not as successful as he thinks Shizuo would like him to be, but it’s enough that he can speak, can explain what’s happening maybe, just so Shizuo will know that this is what he wants and _please please don’t stop._

 

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya gasps, air rushing from his lungs like his throat has been blocked this whole time. “Shizu-chan, keep going. You’re helping.”

 

Shizuo’s brow furrows, his hair obscuring the movement just enough that Izaya feels the need to reach up and brush it off the blond’s forehead. “Izaya, I’ve never seen you like this before. You seemed fine—well, okay, not fine, but better than this, I guess—a few minutes ago,” he says, voice tentative in the small space of the bedroom.

 

Izaya bites his lip, the pain keeping him alert. “I—just let me zone out. Keep doing what you’re doing. I promise I’ll still get you off,” he says.

 

But Shizuo just shakes his head and presses his forehead to Izaya’s. “That’s not—no, ‘Zaya, that’s not what I’m worried about. You don’t have to, if that’s not what you want. I can just—I can do whatever you want, as long as I don’t have to, like, seriously hurt you, I mean—”

 

“Shizuo,” Izaya bites out, and his voice sounds ragged and pretty goddamn bad even to his own ears. “Look, I just—everything is so dreamy and unreal right now, and I can’t—I mean, I was fine earlier, like you said, but maybe not that fine, but now you’re doing everything for me and it’s—” Fuck, it’s hard to admit this, hard to even formulate it into words. “Just—Shizu-chan, I want you to fuck me, I want—I can’t feel anything,” Izaya admits, his hands tightening hard into fists against Shizuo’s soft shirt.

 

Shizuo’s face is calm, all trace of confusion replaced with an expression that is tender and accepting. He takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to Izaya’s forehead, a hand coming up to press under Izaya’s shirt and rest flat against Izaya’s side. “Okay,” he finally says. “Okay. Whatever will help. As long as you can still tell me if I’m hurting you or, just, doing a bad job or something,” Shizuo says with a grin. It’s mostly an expression that just looks kind, but there’s a hint of teasing somewhere in there, and Izaya knows this is Shizuo’s way of saying nothing’s wrong, and nothing’s changed, and whatever Izaya needs, he can have without judgment. Izaya grins back.

 

“Like a safeword,” Izaya says, and Shizuo blushes and nods. “Or a gesture, if you’re choking me. I’ll cross my fingers.”

 

“Okay. But you also have to check in with me sometimes. Let me know what’s going on in that overactive head of yours,” Shizuo says, leaning in and biting at Izaya’s earlobe.

 

Shizuo moves down Izaya’s neck, trailing soft kisses as he goes, and Izaya lets out little delighted hums that only increase as his head wanders off again. He knows he isn’t as present as he usually is, his actions slow and syrupy, his mind consumed by the sensations triggered by Shizuo’s gentle touch, but Shizuo doesn’t interrupt again until he’s already pulled off Izaya’s shirt and is heading for his jeans. “Okay?” Shizuo asks then, and Izaya bites his lip and nods and holds onto Shizuo’s hair as the blond pulls off first Izaya’s pants and then his underwear.

 

“Clothes,” Izaya says, tugging at Shizuo’s shirt, and Shizuo nods and pulls back, presumably to remove the garment. But Izaya is suddenly flooded with this strange fear that if he lets go of Shizuo now, he’ll lose all grip on reality like he sometimes does on bad days, the really bad ones where he sits in a ball and can’t cry and can’t sleep and can’t eat and can’t work and can’t think, his mind entirely taken over by its own traitorous powers so that Izaya, whatever Izaya is coded as in his own brain, has to take a backseat and watch reality crumble around him.

 

“Izaya,” Shizuo says, and the fear goes away. It helps that Shizuo can apparently read minds, and is entirely willing to keep hold of Izaya’s hand as he maneuvers his way out of his shirt one-handed, switching his grip on Izaya’s hand at the end to pull the last sleeve off his arm. Izaya holds his shoulders while he struggles out of his pants and boxer-briefs, and then they’re both naked and oh thank fuck, because this feels so much better, like a comfortable tether to keep both of them here, together, safe.

 

“Shizuo,” Izaya suddenly breaths, his mind kind of online again now that their skin is all pressed together and solid, now that he can feel how real this is. “Shizuo,” he breathes again, and Shizuo presses kisses to Izaya’s throat, his weight pressing Izaya into the sheets, and it’s perfect and grounding and leaves both Shizuo’s hands free to ghost up and down his sides. Izaya lets a ragged gasp, his head still spinning with not having to be in control, but calm enough now to vocalize all his relief and his gratitude.

 

Shizuo pulls back to look down and Izaya lets out a little whimper at the loss of contact, the loss of such a feeling of security in being held down against the soft mattress. “That was—that helped, didn’t it,” Shizuo says, unnecessarily because the yes feels like it’s etched permanently into Izaya’s skin, and he knows Shizuo can look at him and read that. It’s strange to think of the two of them this way, as beings that can speak without words and read paragraphs in each other’s movements, but Izaya revels in it instead of letting it scare him for once.

 

“Come on,” Izaya says, and Shizuo nods, and acquiesces.

 

Afterwards, high on dopamine and intimacy just the same, Shizuo asks, “Did I hurt you?”

 

Izaya sucks in another breath and shakes his head. “No,” he manages after a few seconds, his hands regaining enough coordination to run softly through Shizuo’s hair. “You quieted things.”

 

Shizuo sighs out a noise of relief and presses a kiss to Izaya’s collarbone, the motion cautious like he’s afraid he’ll break Izaya’s small body if he isn’t careful. “Good,” he breathes, his forehead sweaty and hot against Izaya’s skin. They stay like that for a while, Shizuo’s head resting next to his on the pillow so he can keep watch over Izaya’s expression and drape an arm across Izaya’s chest, Shizuo’s hold protective and caring, still holding Izaya together just in case he’s not okay yet.

 

But.

 

“I’m okay,” Izaya says, turning over onto his side so his body faces Shizuo’s, each of them curved like a parenthesis, their hands twined together in the middle. Shizuo’s lips quirk up in a smile, and he pulls their joined hands up to his mouth to press a kiss to the tangle of their fingers.

 

“I’m glad,” Shizuo says then, his eyes glowing gold in the afternoon light pouring in the open window. Izaya had forgotten that it was still so early, maybe only two o’clock when he’d first arrived, and the sun isn’t even really sinking yet, and they’ve got so much time.

 

It’s a strange thought to have, the idea of the future and the time ahead of them which is reserved for _Shizuo and Izaya_ , for a pair of people instead of just a lonely timeline that Izaya will walk himself. It’s a strange thought because he never thought it would happen this way, but looking back, he realizes that Shizuo has always been a part of his future, that he always would have been even if they’d never crossed the line from sworn enemies into whatever they are now. Because they’d met one day at school and from then they’d been constant, forever swooping through each other’s lives even when others were coming and then going, the next fight always a sure thing when nothing else was. Nothing would take that away from them, not even time.

 

Izaya swallows and slides closer to Shizuo, their legs tangling together as Shizuo lifts his chin so Izaya can fit his head beneath it. They stay twined together as the afternoon turns into evening and the sun starts to set. Soon, Shizuo will stand up and maybe shower, probably carrying Izaya with him under the spray of the water so that they can kiss languid and quiet in the tiny bathroom. He’ll insist on making dinner, and Izaya will even eat some, because he feels better now and more secure, in touch with reality instead of outside it, in the terrifying fringes that swirl dark and menacing behind his eyes sometimes. For now, that darkness has edged away, ever-present but now unthreatening, the golden radiance of Shizuo keeping it at bay.


End file.
